MIKAIL
Propped on my elbow, my eyes gorge on her unmatched beauty. She is so beautiful, my heart stills and revs up at the sight of her.
Her curled lashes flutter deep in sleep, her elegant brows furrowing. I gently straighten the line away as if erasing whatever troubles her. Then, I brush my knuckles along her delicate cheekbones and her heart-shaped, full lips. Even in her sleep, she whispers my name, knowing who she belongs to.
My lids grow heavy, but I don’t want to lose a moment when I could spend eternity simply contemplating her. Fuck. She’s everything. The wonder of my life. The purpose of my life. The love of my life. She is my life.
I could never renounce her now. Everything in me revolts at the thought of staying away when I want to get so close to her there’s not an inch of space between us—physical or emotional.
With a heavy sigh, I fall asleep, knowing that I either have her or I don’t care about living.
Small kisses wake me up. The corners of my mouth curl into a smile as she peppers my face with her soft lips, almostdesperate as if assuring herself that I am real. I snake an arm around her back, dragging her to my chest.
She squeals, and I open my eyes to see her shining with a love so bright it puts me on my damn knees.
“Morning,” she says in a tone laced with anguish.
I feel my brows furrow. “Morning, baby girl.”
She avoids my gaze, biting her lip, looking deep in thought.
“What’s the matter?”
A frown contorts her face, and I kiss it away. A nagging feeling pushes me to dig further.
“What is it?” I insist.
“Nothing,” she sighs, the sound breaking my heart.
I grip her chin and make her look back at me. “Tell me.”
“Mika…”
“Dahlia, fucking tell me what’s bothering you,” I say, brooking no argument.
“It was a dream,” she says, voice sounding haunted.
“What did you dream about?”
“Don’t make me tell you,” she whispers and smacks her mouth on mine, kissing me with ardor.
While her kisses make me forget my damn name, it doesn’t work when I feel something is wrong. She’s about to move when I bring her back to my chest.
Scooting up against the headrest, I caress along her back as she palms my chest.
Her eyes well up, and she gulps. “I had it all, and then it got ripped away from me.”
I feel my brows knotting, not understanding what she’s referring to. “What?”
“I was wearing a wedding band, and you were caressing my swollen belly,” she murmurs.
I can see it so clearly that, for a moment, it feels real, not a dream.
We remain silent for long moments, both giving in to that vision. Surely, she thinks about how impossible that is, while I think about how to make it happen.
“Would you choose me?” I ask, refusing to die for the sin of loving her at her brother’s hands.
“Mika, no. We can go back to how things were…” She doesn’t sound sure.
